Of course it was a foolish move, but no one has ever used the word "sensible" in the same sentence with my name.
Lured incrementally towards the house with roots sunk deep into a mire of misery and unalloyed pain, I was helpless to fend off the call of the siren. Warnings gone unheeded were my unfortunate mode of reacting to elders who were more experienced in the consequences of life's greater and more unforgiving contretemps.
Having escaped a few times without any bodily harm during my misadventures, I walked with no little purpose up the curving path. What was within those walls beckoned -- I felt rather than knew -- although there was no seeming menace about the building's placid exterior. The white paint of the lapboard siding was somewhat faded from a brightness that once reflected the summer sun. I recall having to shield my eyes on those warm, languid days, those carefree days when the two of us walked hand-in-hand, dreaming of the day when we would take ownership of the house on the hill . . .
